


The Werewolf, the Dick, and Some Gin.

by ArthurShmarthur



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crime, Crime Noire, Femme Fatale, M/M, Noire - Freeform, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:14:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1808362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArthurShmarthur/pseuds/ArthurShmarthur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I remember the night Derek Hale walked into my office and my life like it was yesterday. It was a Tuesday and it was raining. Nothing good ever happens on a Tuesday, especially if it’s raining; I’ve learned this much from experience.</p><p>Or that one time I put Sterek in a bygone era of classiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enter the Dame

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, this idea started as a joke between me (ihaveinnerdemons.tumblr.com) and my good friend (Medici-Venus.tumblr.com). It's amazingly fun to write but time consuming to add in all of the extra jargon. Speaking of which, here is the main list I've been taking terms from: https://www.miskatonic.org/slang.html
> 
> Oh, and this soundtrack is great! http://8tracks.com/chewybitems/noir
> 
> Enjoy!

I remember the night Derek Hale walked into my office and my life like it was yesterday. It was a Tuesday and it was raining. Nothing good ever happens on a Tuesday, especially if it’s raining; I’ve learned this much from experience.

I was sat at my desk, filing away my latest case, the Sheble Arsons – but that’s another story for another time. I had been having a sip of my now cold coffee when the silhouette showed up on my door. Shortly thereafter there was a hesitant knock. I pulled my snub-nosed revolver out of my desk drawer and, holding it under the desk, pointed it toward the door. When you’re in my line of business it pays to never be caught off-guard. But my pistol didn’t prepare me for what happened next.

“Come in.” I called to the figure on the other side of the door and boy did he. Derek Hale stepped into my office and I knew then that he was the cat’s pajamas. A strong, German jawline, dark features, and an impressive frame; in short, he was a Bruno behind the eight-ball. All the birds that come to me are in a jam. I knew when he stepped into the light that his suit was tailored; He was the butter and egg man from the looks of it. My favorite kind.

“What can I do yah for, bo?” I played with the toothpick resting in my yap.

He closed the door behind him and removed his hat, never taking his peepers off me. It gave me the willies. “You Detective Stilinkski?” he had a voice like Frankie. 

“Can’t yah read the door? Or are yah a dumb mug?” There was something dangerous about this cat and it gave me the creepin’ heebie jeebies. I’ve got a good instinct about me and I’ve learned to trust it; I kept my bean-shooter pointed at him under the desk.

“I knew I had you doped right. I’m going to blow.” He turned around and reached for the knob.

“Wait just one minute, pal. I don’t know what you’ve got me doped as but I’m the real McCoy. You need help and the coppers aren’t cooperating. I’ve seen it a million times and solved just as many.” I had stood up and was waving the heat at him as I spoke. He turned and saw it and piqued an eyebrow. “Now, take a load off your dogs and let’s chin.” I pointed the revolver at him and motioned toward the chair. He obeyed.

I sat down and put the bean-shooter on my lap. “So, what’s your name, kid?”

“Derek Hale.” His stare was intense, but I’m the head honcho in my own office.

I picked up a deck of Luckies and my lighter, “Smoke?” he waved his hand and that’s when I knew this goose was an odd duck. I should’ve given him the gate right then and there but something made me want to know more. “So, what’s a guy like you lookin’ for a gumshoe like me for, anyway?”

His hand played at his collar. Was it warm in here or is he nervous? “See, I recently lost a lot of my family in a fire – “

“My condolences.”

He continued, “And the Johns can’t seem to finger anyone for the deaths. But I know it was no accident.”

I took a long drag of the cigarette, watching the tip flare red, Hale wringed his hands. Unless you were a dick like me you’d have missed it but me, I don’t miss nothin’. I exhaled, he watched my lips purse. “And you want me to take the case up, find the goons that did it and put ‘em under glass. Is that the gist of it?”

He nodded slowly. I don’t know if it’s the way he asked, the feelings of sympathy I had for a man who lost family, the fact that he looks like he has the bees, or the way his eyes traced my hands as I brought the cigarette to and from my lips. I don’t know if it was just one of those reasons or all of them, but I said yes to the tall, dark mystery that walked into my office that night.


	2. Some Gin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy :3

The Argent Mafia was bad news, everybody was wise to that. I was wise to that. And yet, the Argent goon brought the butt of his revolver down across my face, again. I could taste the blood welling up in my yapper; it isn’t a taste I’m inclined to like.

His rough and tumble attitude and snazzy suit clashed with his high voice, “I’ll ask ya one more time: where’s Hale?”

I brought my gaze up to the hood and held his eye for a moment before spitting blood all over his ugly mug. He laughed – not what I had expected – and wiped his face down. “I see this is goin’ ta be a barrel of laughs.” He stepped over to a leather doctor’s bag and opened it, retrieving a set of pliers.

\---

The second time I met Derek Hale was unintentional. It was Thursday and I had a habit of hittin’ this old drum down by the docks before calling it a night. I’m not sure if the place had a name, but I was always heeled so never worried. Besides, this was a classier establishment – where all the highbinders and high pillows came for an unsolicited sip of the hooch. I went there for the white, of course, but also to listen. People always think they’re out of earshot when they’re out on the roof.

I parked my iron and headed ‘round back of the building. Though prohibition’s technically over, it don’t stop occasional extremist factions of the law. So a place servin’ such high-brow members of society likes to keep its whereabouts a bit of a mystery. Lucky for me, mysteries are my idea of a good time. I could hear the music as I approached the door, sounded like they had a doll singing tonight. I gave the door the old one, two knock and the view hole slid open.

“Can I help you?”

“Really, Danny? I’ve been comin’ to this box for over a year.”

The eyebrows furrowed, “I’m just followin’ orders, Stiles. Can’t blame a guy. Now, can I help you?”

I let out an exaggerated sigh, defeated, “Do you have any tarantula juice?” The pigeonhole slid shut and Danny opened the door for me. “Thanks, bo.” I tipped my hat to him as I skipped the coat check and saddled up to the bar.

I was right, there was a dame singing and she wasn’t too bad on the peepers. I couldn’t remember her name at the time, but I would soon not be able to forget it. 

Putting my cap on the bar next to me I waved the bartender over, “A white on the rocks.” He nodded. It was early, only near 8 o’clock, but the place was jivin’ as the dame broke into an up-tempo song. The brass was hitting on all eights tonight. And that’s when I noticed him. The rest of his table had gone to the floor to shake a calf but he sat there and watched. Why was he at a table with the Chief of Police, the Attorney General, and their broads? But I’d have to ponder that later, as he had noticed me and was approaching.

“Detective Stilin-“

I cut him off, “Stiles. I’m Stiles, pipe that?”

What could only be described as a mischievous – yet disarming – smile played at his lips, “Stiles. Fancy meeting you here.”

“Ah, well, a man’s gotta get his tiger milk somewhere.” I lifted my tumbler of gin and shook it for emphasis.

“Are you tailing me?” The smile had vanished from his face.

“Nah, Mr. Hale. You’ve got it all wrong. I’m just here to get a bit lit, that’s all. Honest.” He seemed awful hinky of a man he’s paying. But he did just lose family, so I let it slide.

He folded his arms over his chest, “Any news on the case?”

I had a right good laugh at that. “It hasn’t even been two days. Whattya think this is? Duck soup?” He didn’t seem amused. “Listen, pal, I’ve got your number, I’ll call you on the blower the second I find anything pertinent out. Capeesh?” He remained silent so I took a swig. For a split second I could’ve sworn he was eyeing my neck. A shiver ran up my spine for a moment but I took comfort in knowin’ I had my trusty bean-shooter if anything funny goes down.

“I’ll be seein’ you.” He turned and walked back to his table as the song ended. 

I finished my drink and ordered a double.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry chapters are so short. They're really more like scenes than chapters.
> 
> Please let me know what you think, good or bad. :D


	3. Doll-Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first scene may be a tiny bit graphic, what with torture and all.

I’ve heard that the mob had, how do ya say, ‘unique’ ways of getting pigeons to talk. Fortunately for me, I’d been able to avoid finding out the specifics of it all. Well, up ‘til now. 

The smile on doc goon’s face was edging on psychotic as he languidly returned to my side. He put his greasy mitt on my forehead and pushed back; the pain shot through me like a stack of bricks as my neck crunched against the back of the chair – and he hadn’t even started the real torture yet. “Do ya know why the boss doesn’t do the interrogating? Do ya?” His tone was absolutely giddy.

“Is it because he’s a daisy?” I managed to eke out. Breathing wasn’t as easy as I remembered it always being before now.

He guffawed, “Oh, no, much better ‘an that! It’s because I asked ‘im to let me.” He slowly dragged the pliers up my neck. “You see, I like to watch people… writhe.” He lingered on the last word, tasting it. This croaker clearly wasn’t playing with a full deck. In an instant the pliers were in my mouth and hooked on to a molar.

“Do you know what’s incredible about the mouth?” With one swift yank he pulled the tooth from my mouth and pain flooded my vision as I let out a scream. I didn’t scream for long. I’d like to say it’s because I’m a tough guy, but it’s because I started to choke on the blood pooling in my mouth. “It only takes a handful of teeth left for a pigeon like you to make the sounds needed to squeal.”

\- - - 

I had gotten a tip from one of my contacts that there had been men seen fleeing from the scene of the Hale fires. It wasn’t a solid lead but I’d take what I could get at this point. The case ran cold and it’s not even been more than a month. It’s like a bird on the inside wanted it snuffed out. I wasn’t buyin’ what they were selling, though. Bein’ the dick that I am, I decided to start at the scene of the crime.

The former Hale mansion was on the west end of town and it was something else. Or, it was before it had burnt down. I remember walkin’ past it as a kid and thinking it had all the bells and whistles. It ain’t makin’ no more music now. The property was gated and had a quarter mile on either side of the house proper from any neighbors, but I thought askin’ couldn’t hurt.

The Martins on the left were another respected family of the area. I had an intimate relationship with their daughter – it was a bit onesided – she didn’t know my face from a hole in the wall. When I rang the bell their man brought me to a sitting room. It was lavishly, if not traditionally, decorated. I’d expect such propriety from a solicitor.

“Mr. Martin, I was wondering if you had time to answer a few questions about the Hale fire?” He stood by the unlit fireplace.

“Detective Stilinski – was it?” I nodded, “I’ve already given my statement to the proper authorities,” he emphasized proper. “This has been a great tragedy and I’d like to leave it in the past. Think of my wife and daughter.”

“So you didn’t see any men leaving the property just before the fire started?” I gave him the trademarked Stilinski crazy eyes. If used properly, it can reduce a man to crying out confessions.

He flinched under my gaze and then curtly asked me to breeze off. I must have done the eyes wrong.

“Oh! A real live detective, just like you see in the movies!” I heard Ms. Lydia Martin say as I was being shown out of the sitting room. “Daddy,” she walked over to him and put her hands on his chest, “Won’t you introduce me? This is quite a thrilling experience!” She had that cat tied up in yarn.

“Dearest, this is Detective Stilinski. Detective Stilinski, this is my daughter Lydia.” He was a gentleman.

She held her hand out to me and I took it in a polite shake. There was a palmed piece of paper in it she transferred to my hand. “Charmed, Ms. Lydia.”

“Likewise.” There was an electricity in those peepers, an intellect behind the button.

“He was just leaving.” Mr. Martin motioned toward the door.

Once I was off their porch and out of sight, I peeked at the paper. It read, The B-Flat Club, Saturday 8pm. I’ll have to admit, even I didn’t see that coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and Gentlemen, Ms. Lydia Martin.


End file.
